


Shooting Blind

by recrudescence



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M, Porn Battle, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-25
Updated: 2011-01-25
Packaged: 2017-10-15 02:12:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/155944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/recrudescence/pseuds/recrudescence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's a bullet of a boy, hard and small and dangerous. Robert Fischer has the potential to wreak so much havoc, but at least now it's only the kind of havoc controlled by other people.</p><p>Inspired by a prompt from <a href="http://oxoniensis.dreamwidth.org/35812.html">Porn Battle XI</a>: <i>Fischer/Saito, bullet</i>. There's also spanking and stuff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shooting Blind

He's a bullet of a boy, hard and small and dangerous. Robert Fischer has the potential to wreak so much havoc, but at least now it's only the kind of havoc controlled by other people.

When Fischer releases an official statement about his plans for the breakdown of Fischer-Morrow, one of the first things Saito does is ensconce himself in a Sydney hotel and have his people arrange a dinner meeting. He only intends to keep an eye on him, do the honorable thing and salute a former competitor for his integrity, but ends up doing quite a bit more.

Things go off without a hitch. Fischer is calm and amiable and casual, nothing at all like the despondent figure he was in the dream world. When Saito thanks him for accommodating him on such short notice, he actually laughs. “It's a welcome change from everyone clambering to know why I'm doing it. I'm pretty sure you're the one person who doesn't give a damn about that.”

For one frozen, heart-stopping second, Saito assumes the worst. The wine in his glass seems to pitch and tilt as if they're back in a very different hotel restaurant. “You've made a very intrepid choice, it's true.”

“It seemed like the right thing to do,” says Fischer, and Saito breathes a little easier.

“I won't try to talk you out of it, of course,” he says, straining to keep his smile from breaking into what he imagines will be a grin too villainous for Fischer to process as actual goodwill, “but it's a shame to lose such a worthy adversary. I wish you the best.“

He smiles, this good little boy with his suspenders and sharp-pressed shirt. Smiles and drinks and looks at Saito with clear, unassuming eyes. “Thank you. I know you and my father had your difficulties, but I still think he would have understood.”

Saito relaxes. It comes naturally to him now, conversation flowing as steadily as the wine.

“There's nothing wrong with being your own person,” he says, when the plates are cleared and the sun is nothing but a few lazy strands of red lingering over the horizon. It doesn't occur to him at first how much this sounds like something Eames suggested when they were trying to determine the simplest form of the idea to plant in Fischer's mind. “It can be a challenge, figuring out who you are now that no one's defining you.”

When Fischer looks up, he seems almost alarmed, as if Saito's hit a nerve he didn't realize existed. “You're right. That's a big part of what this is.”

And that same evening, there in the elevator, little Robert Fischer kisses him like he's starving for it.

Saito allows it, then and every time it happens afterward. It's the least he can do after what he put the boy through, give him a little happiness just to ensure he _has_ it in his post-inception life.

And each time, Saito can almost feel the way Fischer's hard, corporate-honed edges wear away. It's the most rewarding kind of evidence. Robert Fischer, in his bed, letting himself indulge. Letting himself do things he never would have done before.

Robert isn't fragile, not in the way one would assume upon looking at him. He's the result of both a coddled life and an impersonal upbringing, growing up with luxury at his every whim but lacking simple things like parents who gave a damn about anything besides grooming him for their own ideas of success. Even in bed, he takes everything without hesitation, not mentioning what he enjoys until Saito figures it out for himself.

He learns these things, the way Robert has of wanting to be held and kissed and stretched open so slowly, each little frisson of pleasure making him shudder and moan. He learns how sensitive Robert is to everything when it's drawn out, learns the way he moans when Saito's fingers are curved up inside him and that tight body is squirming against the sheets.

Then Saito starts making him speak.

It isn't so easy, urging him to articulate what he wants and needs. There's a cruel irony to it, since Robert has always been able to want whatever he liked as long as it didn't interfere with his role in the company. Sleeping with his biggest competitor is something his father would have hated, which doesn't escape Saito for an instant. And even though this might just be belated rebelliousness and nothing more, even though Fischer finally has ample opportunities for making messes he doesn't have to worry about cleaning up, wheedling words from him can be torturous.

Saito has two fingers knuckle-deep inside him, unmoving, waiting patiently until Fischer instructs him how to do it. He can wait for a long time if need be. This is not new territory for them.

“Can't you just...?” His voice is strained, but there are still traces of the haughty Robert who just sighed and slumped in his seat when Saito pulled a gun on him during the cab ride in the first level.

With a quiet laugh, Saito brushes a kiss against the base of his neck, where sweat-damp kiss curls are starting to form. Robert's skin is hot under his lips. “I need to hear it from you first.” He twists his fingers, the tips of them catching against a spot inside him that has Robert keening and trying to thrust himself back, trying to take him in deeper.

Saito merely withdraws entirely.

Robert lets out a strangled protest. Then he twists around, eyes and cheeks blazing, teeth closing hard in his lower lip. “I...okay. Need you...please...” His voice goes from authority to uncertainty in the space of only a few words. “I just want you to fuck me. However you want, hold me down or tie me down or make me keep my hands behind my back like last time, just as long as you do it hard and...” he breathes in, hair falling over his brow, face twisted up as if he's ashamed, “and I need it, all right, I _need_ it. Please.”

Fischer is a good twenty years younger than Saito and Saito's noticed he likes a little discipline, but they've never mentioned it. Saito leans forward to wrap an arm around his waist, pulling him into his arms. “Good, very good.” Praise is as important as punishment, and Robert never asks for reassurance but Saito can feel the way his body seems to mold against him a little more readily. He lets his fingers trail with deliberation across Robert's narrow chest, pausing to stroke against a nipple, kissing it when Robert arches into him. “That wasn't so trying, was it?

“Just hurry.” Robert's eyes, usually so icy and impersonal, are a little wild. He shifts, gasps, fingers combing through Saito's hair as he presses their foreheads together. His voice is low and his erection is hot against Saito's stomach, a fat drop of precome gathered at the tip. “Do anything you want, I just need to come and I don't know how long I can...I don't...”

“Shhh.” There's too much desperation in Robert's voice and Saito soothes it down. “You're doing so well. There's no reason to make you wait any longer.” He kisses him, stroking over his sides and back as he's guiding him down onto hands and knees again.

Robert's lips are positively obscene when they finish. The term _cocksucking lips_ comes to mind, but Saito can't for the life of him remember where he learned it. He palms some more lubricant, rubbing fingers down the cleft of his ass, chiding Fischer when he wriggles too much. “Keep still.”

He lands a light slap on one cheek for emphasis, and Robert, posh little Robert, utters some very unseemly language.

Saito tilts his head and does it again.

Robert groans. “Goddamnit, _yes_.”

It takes Saito a moment to realize his mouth is hanging open. He pulls himself together, leaving kisses between the nubs of Robert's spine, watching the liquid grace evident in the way his body curves and writhes. “Interesting. Please keep still now; I won't say it again.”

He slips a hand down the slimness of his side, over the crest of a hip, taking the smooth curve of Robert's erection into his palm. Carefully, gradually. And he squeezes.

Robert draws a harsh, hiccuping breath, hips bucking forward. Slowly, very slowly, Saito draws his fingers back and smiles.

The protests are immediate. “Please, you know I didn't—Jesus, come _on_.”

Saito lands another blow on one side of his ass. Like every part of Fischer's body, it's familiar to him, small and pert and beautifully sensitive where it meets the hollow of his back, and Saito's given it so much attention in the past that it seems almost ludicrous this hasn't happened before. Robert cries out, whimpers, and looks over his shoulder with round eyes. “Saito, I don't—”

He crests a hand over the redness flaring over that pale skin. “Is this not to your liking?”

Robert's hair is in his eyes again, but Saito can hear the lust in his voice. “I didn't say that.”

“Then I suggest you _do_ say.”

Robert moans quietly. It's formless and reedy, not the sound of a young man used to being able to hold the world in thrall with his wealth and prestige. For a second time, Saito lets him sit up and be held.

“You're very beautiful like this.” Murmuring to him, arms winding around him, tongue probing into his mouth, ignoring the throb of his his own erection trapped in the cradle of Robert's hipbone. “Very beautiful. And I'd like nothing more than to give you what you want. But I think there are a few things you haven't told me yet.”

He sighs against Saito's throat, blunt nails digging into his shoulders. “A-again, damn it, _justdoitagain_.” Swallowing, looking Saito in the eye almost defiantly before hiding his face again, wet little mouth kissing at the side of his neck. “Harder, I can...I can take it, I promise, Mr. Saito, just please...more.”

It's the _Mr._ that shatters his calm, but he tries not to show it. Saito pushes the hair back from those closed eyes, letting it pass soft and cool between his fingers, and kisses his forehead. Robert looks so small like this, wearing nothing but a flush and a hint of shame, and the sweep of his lashes against his cheeks only adds to the fact. “Good boy. What do you want me to do?”

“Spank me.” His voice sounds so small. Robert isn't some delicate ingenue in need of protecting, but damned if he can't take to the role like a duck to water when he chooses. “Make me...make me good. I want to, wanna be good for you but I can't do it by myself. Show me how.”

 _Make me good_. Saito's already made him the best. He strokes down Robert's back once more, letting a fingertip venture down between the cheeks of his ass where he's slick and ready. “Turn back over.”

This time, he doesn't hold back. It's hard and fast each time he brings his hand down. Robert cries out every single time, squirming and parting his legs and exposing as much of himself as he can given the position he's in. His ass is still pressing into the air, pale and round and showing off the flare of color so nicely with every crack of Saito's palm against flesh.

When Robert whines and tries to bury his face against the duvet, Saito grips him by the hair, forces him back up.“Do you like this?”

This time, the answer is immediate. Robert's eyes are wide, a little wet, and he shudders all over when Saito shoves a pair of fingers back inside him without preamble. “Love it, please, 'm so close, want you to-- _fuck_ \--want...God, Saito, _please_.”

Saito still has a hand tangled in his hair. He twists it, pretends not to hear the yelp Robert tamps down. “ _What_ , Robert?”

Robert's ass clenches around his fingers, flat stomach damp with sweat and precome as he arches, turning to face Saito as well as he can without pain. “I w-want you to fuck me so hard. Don't want to come until your cock's in me and I can...need to f- _feel_ it, feel you in me all hard and fucking me until it's almost like I can't handle it, but if you...I _can_ , I promise. Tell me to and I can, I swear, anything, but I just want it so, so _much_.” He's babbling, all the words Saito could ever want pouring out of him in a rush, but the only thing he hears is, _Make me good_.

He lets him go, running kisses up his back, murmuring nothings at him, and Robert's body is practically shaking. Cock darkened and damp, balls drawn in tight when Saito slides his other hand between Robert's thin thighs and touches. Robert groans, fists wrenching at the sheets, body a taut curve of supplication. “ _Please_.”

“You're acting like a slut, Robert.” Saito slips in another finger, three now, crooking and pressing and working him over from the inside.

“Fuck...please, I know...just fucking _do_ it.” Sweaty and wild, riding his ass back, heedless of any lingering sensitivity. “Need your cock.”

 _This_ is the sort of thing Saito's sure Fischer wouldn't have ever considered saying out loud before. He moves, flipping him onto his back, sliding in all at once and letting Robert rut against whatever skin he can. Fischer is silent now, aside from the hitch of his breathing, dripping all over the bedding and his own hand. All it takes is Saito grinding up into him and chuckling, “I'll have to invest in a paddle for next time,” before Robert trembles and comes, sucking a livid mark into Saito's shoulder, clinging with every limb, Saito still hard inside him.

When Saito pulls back, he realizes he might actually have to start shopping around for a decent paddle now. One-handed, he urges Robert over, glimpsing just how red the skin there still is. “Is there pain?”

Fischer hums, cuddling into the pillows. “I don't mind it.” He turns onto his side, concerned, when Saito lies back down beside him. “You didn't come.” Leaning in, nuzzling against Saito's chest, lax and sleepy. “I could probably come again, I think. Just give me a little time. Or you can fuck me anyway.”

Saito touches his spent cock and Fischer moans a little, pushing into his hand. “Knees.”

It's beautiful how unquestioningly he takes direction.

Saito eases him open, hearing him whimper, no doubt still recovering from spending the last hour hard and wet and squirming against the sheets. When he draws Robert back onto his lap to fuck him that way, though, the only sound Robert utters is a pleased little groan as Saito sinks into him a second time.

And it doesn't seem to matter than Fischer's already come. He arches, reaching an arm up and back to grip Saito's hair. Lush pink mouth open, cheeks beautifully flushed, wide-set eyes shuttering open and closed. Levering himself up and down on Saito's cock as Saito steadies him with a hand on one hip, the other traveling up his middle, toying with the the mess on his cock, thighs, stomach, and Robert looks at him with glazed eyes, seeming so young and so wanton and so very nonthreatening. “Please, come in me?”

Asking, even though Saito never told him to. Polite, even when the situation doesn't call for it. Was he always this way or did something in the inception change him? Saito has no way of knowing, but he grits his teeth and loses himself in the heat of Robert's body anyway.

Fischer doesn't generally mind falling asleep messy, but Saito does. If anything, Robert relishes having a bit of a mess made of himself. He kisses Saito, tongue flickering against the roof of his mouth, canting his hips as Saito wipes the come from his skin with one of the damp towelettes he pulled from a container at the bedside. When Saito swats at his ass this time, it only makes him laugh, and _that_ , Saito knows, is not a sound he ever heard from him until after his father died. He can't seem to recall a single media snapshot in which Robert wore anything resembling a smile. If this is his memory being selective, he doesn't mind.

“Next time,” he says, without any actual sternness, “I won't give you this many chances to behave.”

Fischer smiles at him, cheekbones and insouciance straight off a Paris runway. “Looking forward to it. I'll blow you if I wake up first.” Fischer loves taking creative little liberties when he's the first one awake, and Saito welcomes it since he often doesn't sleep well and needs a respite from his dreams.

As far as Robert is concerned, Saito is just an erratic sleeper. Saito plans to keep it that way.

The pads of Robert's thumbs trace along either side of his frown. “What's wrong?”

“Nothing.” Saito reaches for the sheets and settles back down, kissing any further questions right off Robert's lips. “Get some rest. You need it.”

It's only a few minutes before he does. Sleeping comes so easily to him.

Saito has no right to be envious, but sometimes he forgets.

Robert Fischer is a good boy, a loose cannon wrapped in privilege and prestige, a gun with the safety off.

But Saito is the one who had the cartridge removed and he can afford to take that risk. He protects his investments, whatever they are.


End file.
